


Dark Eyes: A Victuuri Fairy Tale

by pommedambre



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Eventual Smut, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tale Style, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by Yuri!!! on Ice, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-21 01:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11347446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pommedambre/pseuds/pommedambre
Summary: A romantic melange of "Yuri!!! on Ice", Disney's 1991 classic "Beauty and the Beast," and old storybook fairy tales.





	1. Prelude

Once upon a time, the Moon hung low in the sky, and watched over the world as it slept beneath her. The Moon was very lonely, and envious of her elder sister, the SUN, under whom all life flourished; flowers opened beneath her, birds sang and bells pealed to greet her as the SUN rose each day bringing the dawn. 

But, the Moon could only imagine the beauty of the flowers, for they hid their colors away at night, secretly curled in upon themselves. The Moon could only imagine the music of birdsong, for the birds were huddled away in their nests, silent and sleeping, when she rose her head above the night sky. And the great, glorious bells which hung suspended in the towers remained silent as she painted them in her cold, silver light. 

The Moon languished alone, and the stars were too far away to comfort her, and she longed for a companion; she longed to see life stir beneath her, and to have creation waiting to greet her as she brought the night. Her light shone down upon a juniper thicket, and from within it she formed for herself a beautiful silver stag. 

And as she breathed life into him, he sprang up from the thicket and bounded about joyfully. His fair coat shimmered like pearl beneath her light, for he was formed from moon dust. The Moon did not know the sound her stag was to make, as she had never heard one before. 

The only sound she knew was the sound the stars sang as they filled the night sky -- a sound never before heard on earth -- and so she taught her stag to sing to her in the language of the stars, and he became her most cherished treasure.

For many nights, the silver stag met the Moon as she rose into the heavens, calling to her in his sweet voice. He chased her beams of white light as they broke through the trees, and he lapped at her reflection as it rippled across the surface of the stream. 

One night, the Moon rose to see her stag collapsed upon his side in a glen, with his silver coat marred with deep gashes. He sang out to her in distress, for he had only just escaped the ravenous claws of the monstrous beasts which lived deep under the mountains, who craved and hunted him. 

But the Moon could not comfort him, for she was trapped in the heavens, and she despaired. But, in that moment, a human child appeared in the glen, drawn by the plaintive and beautiful cries of her wounded stag. 

The stag had never seen a child before, and was afraid. The child had never seen a creature so wondrous, and was drawn to it. Around his shoulders hung a large satchel full of sweet apples, and he fed one to the wounded stag, and stroked his neck soothingly.

“What is your name, child?” asked the Moon.

“Yuuri is what my mother called me,” he answered, unafraid.

“And where have you come from, little Yuuri?” asked the Moon.

“I have come from the palace in the valley beyond the mountains.”

“Why did you come to this place?” asked the Moon.

“To fetch the sweet, wild apples which grow here, for the Queen has lost the child in her belly, and only these apples bring her and the King any joy, for they have no children of their own.”

The Moon saw the child was good, and smiled down upon him, illuminating his wondrously wide and dark eyes.

“Tell me what you wish, fair child, and I shall give it to you, for you have saved that which is most precious to me.”

The child wrapped his arms about the stag’s neck. “May I keep him for my friend? I have never seen anyone so beautiful.”

The Moon could not bear the thought of losing her beloved creation, but the wish of the child was too innocent and fervent for her to refuse. 

“But how will you protect him from those who would seek to devour him?”

“I will love him. And I will keep him close to me, and care for him.”

The Moon instructed the child to select the most beautiful apple from amongst those in his satchel, and the Moon enchanted it into a pomme d’ambre affixed upon a delicate silver chain. 

The scent within made the stag sing, and as the child placed the pendant around the stag’s neck, the marred silver coat and marbled antlers fell away to reveal the stag remade in the form of a young boy. 

His hair was long, flowing and silver like moonlight — his eyes clear and the color of the night sky close to dawn. 

“Now, child,” said the Moon. “You must give him a name. For he is in need of one.”

“Viktor,” answered the child, as if he had always known, and the Moon wept in joy at the sound of Viktor’s laughter as his hair was twisted into a clumsy braid. 

“Now, take him to the King and Queen from the valley beyond the mountain, for they have long been childless, and cried bitter tears beneath my light, and he will be safe with them.”

Yuuri took Viktor’s hand in his own, and wove their fingers together tightly. 

“I will protect you forever.”

~

The King and Queen, overcome with Viktor’s otherworldly majesty, welcomed him into their world of glittering jewels and fine titles as a blessing sent from heaven. He grew into a man who was fiercely beautiful, kind, and so boundlessly joyful that he became the treasured favorite of his servants and subjects. 

As the years passed, Viktor forgot his long nights chasing moonlight across the meadows, of how Yuuri had found him and named him. He forgot his Mother, the Moon. And he forgot how to sing to the stars. 

But Yuuri never forgot the promise he made before the Moon. He loved and watched over the Prince with a passionate devotion so pure and absolute it consumed his whole heart. 

He was the Prince’s dearest companion — they played together, studied together, learned to ride and hunt together, and when they reached manhood, their devoted companionship melted into a deep and abiding love.

And though the Prince ardently professed his love for Yuuri each day, Yuuri did not trust the heart of his Prince, for he knew it was forgetful, and fickle. He knew his homely face and the soft fullness of his cheeks and waist would melt away beneath the sparkling parties and handsome courtiers with whom the Prince spent his days.

But, so overcome with love was Yuuri that he ventured into the wild and magical lands beyond the castle in search of a spell which would bind Viktor’s heart to him forever. The ancient paths which wove through the forests confused him, and he soon found himself quite lost. Despondent, he lit a small fire beneath a yew tree and promptly fell asleep. 

“It is not wise to sleep in these woods.”

He awoke at the sound of the voice, and was alarmed to see an old woman sharing the heat of his small fire. Her face was covered, and she sat beside Yuuri, her form lumpen and unnatural.

“You are welcome to share my fire,” said Yuuri, for he was a considerate youth.

“I thank you,” she said. “Now, tell me why you have come to these lands, that I may help you with what you seek.”

“I seek a spell to bind my Prince’s heart to me, for I am so desperately in love with him that I fear I shall die without him.” 

“Surely a handsome youth such as yourself would not need a spell to keep a man in your bed.”

Yuuri’s face flushed. “I am not beautiful or witty enough to keep the Prince’s attention forever. This is why I seek a spell.”

“Is this Prince beautiful and kind, I suppose?”

“He is the kindest, most beautiful man with long, silken hair that streams from his head like moonlight, and dazzling eyes that sparkle brighter than one thousand stars. And his voice … his voice has been silent for such a long time, for he has forgotten how to sing.”

The old woman inched closer to the fire, and her eyes burned dark and splendid.

“You are fortunate, for I do know a spell to bind your Prince to you. There will come a time soon where your Prince will be faced with a great peril, and he will come to you for comfort. And you will save him.”

“How?”

“You must bid him to wear your clothes, and you must wear his. He must perform your duties, and you are to do his. You both must do this for a whole day, and in the evening, once the stars have come out, you both shall retire to his chambers. There, you must cut his hair, twist it, and fasten it about your wrist. Not only will this obscure him from the sight of those who would being him harm, he will also be bound to you as long as his hair remains around your wrist.”

Yuuri gave his thanks and elation, and professed one small fire on a cold night was a poor offering for such a precious spell. The old woman only laughed.

~

Early the following morning, the prince’s slumber was disturbed by a large, misshapen crow which perched upon the foot of his bed.

“My Dear Prince," it said, "truly the words which have spread among the lands of your unsurpassed beauty and purity are true, for I was sent to find you by those who dwell in the mountains, and who sleep within the deep places of the world, whose desire you have aroused. This night, on the eve of your twenty-first birthday, we will descend upon you as you sleep, and devour you, for we crave the sweet taste of your flesh, and the heart that beats so passionately in your breast.”

The crow spread it's wings, and with a mighty push returned to the skies with a shrill scream. The young Prince was terrified, and scrambled from his bed. He ran through his castle in great distress, and fell into the arms of his dearest companion

Yuuri quieted his Prince’s cries and comforted him. “ Do not weep, my Prince, for I promised to always protect you. You must command me to wear your clothes, and to live as you for one whole day. And you must in turn wear my clothes, and take my place in the palace kitchens. Then, we will meet again tonight in your apartments, where I will save you from this terrible fate.” 

“How?” asked the Prince, the light of adventure sparkling in his eyes. 

“You’ll see. Until tonight!”

And so, Prince bid his servant to dress in his clothes, to eat at the royal table, and at night, to sleep in the Prince’s bed. “And while you are being me, I shall be you, and spend a day free. What a great game it will be!”

The servant was elated to serve his master, and spent the day luxuriating in the Prince’s fine apartments, dining on the finest food, and as he slipped into the Prince’s silken bed that night, he marveled at how lucky he was to have a Master who cherished him so. 

~

At night, the servant and the Prince came together again in the royal chambers. They wove their fingers together, and pressed their foreheads together, as was their custom from childhood.

“Now, my Prince,” said Yuuri. “I must cut your hair.”

“N-No—-!” exclaimed the Prince. He recoiled in shock, and clutched protectively at his his hair. After all, he was very vain. “My hair — you simply cannot!”

“But I must! It will shield you from the sight of the monsters. It will save you!”

“Stop! Stop this, Yuuri!” 

The Prince tried to push Yuuri away, but Yuuri was the stronger of the two, and the Prince wept in great distress. He fell to his knees as Yuuri cut away at his long, silver hair. His fair hair shorn, the Prince covered his face in shame and collapsed on his side. Yuuri quickly twisted the Prince’s silken hair into a clumsy braid and tied it about his wrist. He leaned over the Prince, embracing him.

“There! I have saved you.” He pressed a kiss to Viktor’s cheek. “Do not fear what comes from the mountains for you this night. Oh beloved, I love you with such a ferocity I fear my heart will break with the longing for you.”

But the Prince was still and silent beneath him. Yuuri rolled the Prince over onto his back, and beheld with horror as the joyful light faded from Viktor’s eyes; his expression held no recognition of Yuuri, and remained cold, vacant, and unseeing.

Yuuri was startled by a sudden, mighty crashing sound as the creatures of the mountains descended upon the Prince’s chamber; he fell to his knees as the creatures turned to stare at him with the darkest and most splendid eyes, and he knew he had beheld them before. Their beauty was so great and terrible that he cowered before them as their wings and gnarled limbs filled the room..

“Please! Take me instead!” he cried. “Please, I beg you not to devour him! Take me in his place.”   
   
“Oh, foolish child,” said the beasts. “For years we have searched for the Silver Stag, as we have long wished to feast upon his flesh. But, now it is your blood which calls to us. As we had hoped, your selfishness and doubt as a lover has let us feast upon a heart far more delicious — for your heart, at first so full of innocent passion, will now wither in despair at what you have done. Truly, your Prince’s love for you is selfless and true, and he has taken none to himself but you. In his heart, he has already bound himself to you. You are the most despicable of lovers.”

Yuuri wept bitterly, and retreated to Viktor’s side. "You have betrayed me," he cried, for he new where else he had seen such terrible eyes.

“Yes, such a thing is simple when one’s heart is as soft as yours." 

The servant stroked the Prince’s cheeks fondly, and his hands shook, as the monsters from the mountains surrounded them. “It is not a terrible fate, Viktor, so do not cry when you awaken. I promised to protect you, and I have.” His tears fell onto Viktor’s cheeks. “Do not forget me.”

“He will not remember you, for you have stripped him of every memory he has of you and his love for you. You will forever mourn the loss of it, for he was made to love none but you. And his fate will be to never know the cause of his suffering.”

The beasts took hold of Yuuri’s arm and pulled it high over his head. The firelight illuminated the band of silver hair which came alive and wove around his wrist, enchanted. Yuuri writhed as the hair melted into furled veins of pearl and silver that wove tightly around his wrist and forearm, and bit harshly into his flesh. 

“A silver hair for each memory you have taken from him,” snarled the beasts. “And for each additional memory you take from him, his silver hair shall grow and claim more and more of your body until you very soul is crushed beneath his memory and love of you.”

Yuuri gave a great anguished cry, and despaired, and the beasts tore into his flesh and consumed him.


	2. Moulon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm also a horrible person for making Chris such a douche. Sorry Chris. ^_~

The village of Moulon was a small provincial town. The village had all the nice things pretty towns had—large, leafy trees, meandering cobblestone paths, curling front porches and summer fairs. Most of the people who lived there were thoughtful and nice. The funny thing about the people of Moulon was their obsession with all things magical. The people of Moulon believed in seemingly silly and nonsensical things like moles keeping nice homes under the tree in the backyard, or that faeries use newly bloomed buttercup flowers as teacups. Housewives kept vases full of daffodils and lilies in their homes in the hopes a faerie might take up residence within one, farmers built their fences at odd angles to keep gnomes and other undesirables out, and in school the children were not taught math or science or literature—they were taught how to tell a good faerie from a bad one, as this was very important to learn.

In the town of Moulon there lived two brothers; the eldest was named Viktor, the younger Yurio. Neither of them had been born in Moulon; both came from lands far away, and this made them different than the townspeople. Yurio had come to Moulon to live with his elderly great-uncle, Yakov, after his parents lost their fortunes and could no longer care for him. Yurio and Yakov had welcomed Viktor into their home one winter, when they found him huddled under the eaves of their door, half-dead, starved, and with no memory of who he was, or from where he came. Yakov cared for them both well, but passed away in his sleep the following summer, leaving Viktor and Yurio alone.

Yurio and Viktor were determined to care for each other, and taught themselves useful things, like how to cook, sew and mend, and clean things that thought they themselves weren’t cleanable, tend to the gardens, the horse, and protect their home. 

Yurio found pride and purpose in this newly learned self-reliance. Viktor found these humdrum necessities frightfully boring, but his hours spent in the house and garden made him healthy and smart, and he even made a few discoveries along the way. Once, when tilling the garden, he found a small silken purse amongst the weeds. Upon opening it he found a handful of gold coins no bigger than the back of a ladybug. He was sure this purse belonged to a faerie, despite Yurio’s insistence it had been dropped by a child. “A child’s toy!” he had said exasperatedly. Viktor added this treasure to his collection of other novelties, which included an old gilded pendant that was robin’s egg blue, an odd golden bird feather, various ribbons and a sweet smelling piece of soap.

Yurio was a temperamental boy, with wild eyes and volatile temper. He was far too rational and wasn’t inclined to believe in such foolish things like fairy tales and hokum. There were times when he was only a mere child, of course, that he imagined (as most children do) that furry little beings living in the clumps of pussy willow that clustered and blew outside his nursery window, or that the seals on the rocks were mysterious Irish silkies flicking their whiskers in a secret laugh, or that mer-people frolicked in the cresting waves long after the lights were turned out, but the days of those beliefs were long gone. He was not a child, after all. He was too old to believe such nonsensical things anymore; he was, after all, a very grown-up eighteen-year-old, and he had an idiot of an older brother to take care of. 

Viktor was far too handsome for his own good, and existed in a mysterious world caught between melancholic reverie and foolish joviality. His lips held a odd lilting curve that endeared him to those who tolerated his presence, but hinted at a devious slyness of which only Yurio seemed to take notice. 

Where Yurio was industrious, inventive and spent his nights tinkering with his various contraptions and mapping mechanical visions, Viktor was an aimless romantic who spent his afternoons napping in the garden, or strolling the hills around the village, lost in the fantastical world of his books.

It was Yurio’s opinion that his elder brother was a simple fool. And despite their world steeped in traditions and magic, the villagers often gossiped of Viktor’s strangeness. His vacant gazes seemed to hold a secret yearning beyond what could be comprehended by those who knew him, even Yurio. There were whispers that the young man had taken up with faeries, or had fallen victim to a witch’s spell. 

Or … perhaps Viktor was simply an empty-headed fool, after all.

~

One autumn mid-morning, Viktor pulled on a wide-brimmed hat (which sat on his head charmingly askew), and headed into town with a large basket tucked under his left arm. The house he lived in with his brother was small, but surprisingly inviting; the house itself was white with some of the dark brown beams showing through the paint. There was a tidy vegetable garden and a towering peach tree leaning against the back of the house. Viktor always hung their washing out to try over the garden, which caused their bedding to smell of lavender and basil, and made Yurio sneeze. 

Viktor thought Yurio’s sneezes were adorable, which Yurio found intolerable.

Beyond the garden was a small stable and paddock where they sheltered and tended to their horse, Philippe. Their house sat on a small avenue which ran horizontal to Moulon’s main thoroughfare, called The Road. The slick cobblestones were still coated with the morning’s dew as Viktor closed the gate to the garden and meandered down the path to ran his errands. The sky was light and grey, his favorite kind of day, and the breeze was comfortably cool. He passed the old cottages clumped together along the The Road, and admired their quaint little gardens. The roofs were made of thick thatch, and the some of the windows which faced the street were paned with funny designs that seemed to shimmer and change when the sun caught them just right. 

After all, Moulon was a little town, a quiet village. Every day was like the one before, and while village life carried with it comfortable familiarity, Viktor found himself wishing for something more — something vibrantly grandiose. Surely, there must be more for him to know and see beyond the hills of this provincial town!

The numerous stores and carts set up along The Road were already bustling with early morning activity, but the streets were not yet crowded. 

“Apricots!” called out one tall, skinny man. He held out a handful of the small, velvety orange fruit to Viktor as he passed. His mouth watered at the sight, but he politely declined. Yurio would no doubt scold him if he returned home with his arms full of sweet fruits, books and other pretty and worthless things. 

“Sweet brioche! Croissants!” chimed another man. Viktor hurried over to the bright red and white cart and set down his basket expectantly.

“Good morning, Mr. Bough,” he said, grinning widely beneath the wide shadow cast by his hat.

“Ah, good morning, Viktor. And how are we this morning?” he asked, pushing his thumbs beneath his green suspenders and giving them a snap.

“Wonderful!” He looked up at Mr. Bough with another smile. Mr. Bough’s face had a mischievous, pinched look to it. His nose was narrow and his lips thin.

“I take it you’ll have the same request as usual?” Mr. Bough asked, already placing a selection of breads into Viktor’s basket.

“Aye,” Viktor said. He caught a sudden whiff of tobacco, and turned his head toward the scent. Across the street was the Three Steins Tavern. In the window sat Moulon’s wealthiest citizen, shipping merchant Christophe Giacometti, who along with his retainer, Jean-Jaques LeRoy, had just returned from a long sea voyage. Giacometti noticed Viktor’s gaze upon him and looked up, staring back through the warped glass. Viktor watched the man rise to his feet, and knock over a cup of cider as he reached hurriedly for LeRoy. Viktor felt the heart rise in his cheeks and he looked away quickly; he had enjoyed several blissful weeks without the merchant’s unwanted attentions, and felt a small twinge of despair at seeing the man had returned. Viktor scowled and turned back to Mr. Bough with a huff.

“I see you noticed Monsieur Giacometti is back in town.”

“Tch!” was all Viktor could manage. He heaved an exasperated sigh and shook his shoulders. Mr. Bough chuckled and handed him a small glass jar of snowberry preserves wrapped in a brightly patterned cloth.

“Where else are you off to today?”

“The bookshop!” Viktor answered, brightening as he tucked the jam jar into his basket. “I just finished the most amazing story about a beanstalk and and ogre and —“  
“O-Oh, that’s nice,” exclaimed Mr. Bough as a group of customers crowed in behind Victor, clamoring for the freshly baked croissants and danishes. Victor demurred and stepped aside to continue on his way as Mr. Bough called out for Marie to bring more baguettes.

Moments later, Giacometti and Leroy appeared among the throng of customers flighting over fresh-from-the-oven _kouign-amann_.

“Ah, you just missed your shot, Giacometti,” moaned LeRoy, as they pushed their way through the bustling crowd searching for the young man named Viktor — the current target of Giacometti’s obsession, and lust. “But don’t worry — no woman alive (or man for that matter) stands a chance against you!”

Giacometti turned, grasping at his cape dramatically. 

“It’s true, LeRoy. And I have my sights ever set on him!” he exclaimed. His dark eyes flashed with ambitious greed.

“The inventor’s brother?”

“He’s the one — the lucky one I’m going to take to my bed.”

“But he’s —” interrupted LeRoy.

“—the most beautiful man in town—” continued Giacometti with a grandiose, flourishing gesture.

“—I know but—”

“—and that makes him the best. And don’t I deserve the best?”

“Well, of course! I mean, you do, but I —”

“Right from the moment when I meet him, saw him, I said “He’s gorgeous!” and I fell. And in town there’s only he, who is as beautiful as me. So I’m making plans to woo, and take him as my own.”

The village thoroughfare hummed with morning excitement as Viktor continued on his way, stopping here and there to fill his basket with meats, cheeses and fruit. 

A group of children ran past him, laughing, and a small dog skittered after them, barking excitedly. He passed a woman bartering for eggs, and greeted the shepherd herding his flock. It was a comfortable life here in the village of Moulon, but Viktor could not deny the seductive whispers of the juniper-scented gales that blew into the village from the forested mountains beyond — whispers of a destiny Viktor heard only in his deepest dreams, and shrouded memories of which he could not yet make out of shape.  
But the scent … though faint, those memories carried the scent of winter, of mulled wine and warm wood, and of warm, sweet breath against his cheek, a warm palm pressed against his own, fingers tightly entwined. 

_Viktor … will you teach me to dance on the ice as you do? For I wish to dance with you._

A hazy memory of his childhood, or perhaps of a dream? How many times had he woken at night thinking his brother had been calling out for him, only to see Yurio curled in sleep, as still and silent as one of his cats. An aching sadness welled in Viktor, and he felt emotion burn behind his eyes. 

He paused and lifted his head as a familiar breeze swept along side him, ruffling his clothing and as he reached up to secure his hat, he heard hushed voices chatting surreptitiously nearby. 

“Look! There he goes….”  
“That boy is so strange, no question … dazed and distracted — can’t you tell?”  
“He’s never part of any crowd…”  
“Pfft. Because his head’s upon some cloud!”  
“Of course! There’s no denying he’s a funny one, that Viktor.”

He presented not to hear, and did not make a point to look to see who the voices belonged to. They were so quick to label him as odd, simply because he was not like them — not content to live a quiet, boring existence tucked away in a country town. He held no ill will towards them for their words, for he disliked their mundanity as much as they found his oddness disagreeable to their sensibilities.

Viktor continued along down the road until he topped in front of a small storefront. The wooden sign overhead swung back and forth lazily, caught in the morning breeze. The familiar scrape of metal and wood reminded Viktor of his brother, and of his destination today — the bookstore. The haunting visions of the past melted away as a warm smile claimed his lips. He pulled off his hat and entered. A small bell above the door announced his arrival, and the bookkeeper looked up from here he sat behind stacks of well-worn tomes.

“Good morning, Viktor!”

“Good morning ~ ” Viktor practically sang as he entered. “I’ve come to return the book I borrowed.”

“Finished already?” asked the bookkeeper.

“Oh, I couldn’t put it down!” He set the book reverently on the dusty counter, and waved his hand to dispel the soft cloud of dust he disturbed. He sneezed. “Have you got anything new?”

The bookkeeper blinked and rubbed the side of his head awkwardly. “Aha, well, not since yesterday!”

“That’s alright,” mused Viktor dreamily, as he turned to greet the ancient bookcases that lined the wall. He lovingly ran the tips of his slender fingers along the spires of the faded bindings that contained his favorite adventures. They had taken him to such fantastic places far beyond the confines of this provincial town, and he cherished each well-thumbed and yellowed page. His right hand paused on a familiar indigo book. “I’ll borrow this one.”

“That one?” asked the bookkeeper in disbelief. “But you’ve read it twice!”

“But it’s my favorite!” exclaimed Viktor, momentarily clutching it to his chest. “Far off places, daring sword fights, magic spells … a prince in disguise!”

“With that dreamy far off look and your nose always stuck in a book … heh … if you like it all that much it’s yours.”

“But, sir—-!” exclaimed Viktor in protest.

“No, no. I insist!”

“Well, thank you!” Viktor beamed, as he donned his hat and stepped outside. “Thank you very much!”

He was three pages into Chapter One before he had taken ten steps from the bookshop. The familiar scent of its pages greeted him like a long lost friend, and he slid his finger between page three and page four as his eyes danced across the words he nearly knew by heart.  
_Ah, isn’t this amazing? It’s my favorite part! Here’s where she meets Prince Charming, but she won’t discover that it’s him ‘till Chapter Three!_

He was keenly aware of the eyes that followed him as he strode along the town center square, but he brushed their lingering presence aside as their words buzzed around his presence like a swarm of excited insects. 

“Look, there he goes! That boy is so peculiar. I wonder if he’s feeling well?”  
“He’s such a puzzle to the rest of us!”  
“Now, it’s no wonder that he’s a beauty; his looks have got no parallel.”  
“But behind that fair facade, I’m afraid he’s rather odd.”  
“And so very different from the rest of us!”  
“A most peculiar monsieur.”  
“He’s never quite fit in.”  
“A beauty, but a different kind of man.”

He snapped his book shut and turned to look behind him, but there was no one. Offense faded from his expression; perhaps he had imagined it after all.

“Hello, Viktor.”

Viktor turned sharply to see Giacometti, the pompous ass he was, standing a few steps away with his thick arms folded across his chest. LeRoy stood beside him, caught in Giacometti’s looming shadow.

“Bonjour, Giacometti,” said Viktor dismissively, re-opening his book and taking a few steps in the opposite direction. Giacometti caught up with him in only a few strides and playfully slipped the book from Viktor’s hands. Momentary surprise turned to mild irritation, and Viktor’s expression soured. “Giacometti, may I have my book please?”  
Giacometti was flipping through the pages; Viktor cringed and wondered if he treated everything as roughly. 

“How can you read this?” Giacometti asked in distain. “There are no pictures.”

“Well,” said Viktor, coming up alongside him. “Some people like to use their imaginations.”

Giacometti closed the book and leaned over into Viktor. “Viktor,” he purred. “It’s about time you got your head out of those books and started focusing on more important things … like me.” He tossed the book into the gutter; Victor make a soft, disapproving sound and hurried over to rescue his beloved book.

“The whole town’s talking about it,” Giacometti went on philosophically. “It’s not necessary for someone as beautiful as you to read. Soon, you’ll get ideas, and —” The merchant shuddered. “—thinking.”

Viktor smiled wanly as he wiped the dirtied book against his brocade vest. “Giacometti, you are positively primeval.”

Giacometti slung an arm around Viktor’s shoulders. His face was far too close to Victor’s own for comfort, or social propriety. “Why, thank you, Viktor. Why don’t you say we make our way over to the Tavern … I’ll show you some of my new trophies from abroad.”

“Maybe some other time…” Viktor protested weakly, and his stomach turned. Giacometti’s arm tightened around him as the merchant began to steer them toward the Tavern. He reeked of tobacco, gunpowder and sweat. Viktor recoiled, and eventually slipped free from the man’s unwanted embrace. “Please, Giacometti, I need to get home to help my brother.”

“That crazy loon!?” blurted LeRoy. “He needs all the help he can get!” Giacometti roared with laughter.

“Don’t speak about my brother that way!” Viktor spluttered indignantly. 

“Y-Yeah, don’t speak about his brother that way!” corrected Giacometti, who scrambled to save face by punching LeRoy in the shoulder. 

“My brother’s not crazy,” protested Viktor passionately. “He’s a _genius_!”

At that precise moment, a resounding boom echoed through the town square and a monstrous pillar of smoke billowed into the mid-morning sky near their home. 

Dismayed, Viktor ran home as Giacometti and LeRoy’s laughter filled the town square behind him.


	3. Yurio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-Starring Yuri Plisetsky as A Harmless Crackpot

“Yurio?!”

Viktor coughed, and nearly tripped as be fell forward forcing open the door to their home. He was assaulted by a fresh wave of acrid smoke, the clanging of broken machinery, a hacking cough, and a familiar yet comforting slew of slavic profanity coming from the back room. 

“Kak, chert voz'mi, eto sluchilos’!?” 

“Yurio? Are you alright?” Viktor called out, as he opened the windows and waved a few tea towels around to help air out the room. 

Viktor meandered down the hall as the last of the smoke cleared and stifled a laugh as he watched his brother wiggle out from beneath a pile of wood and twisted machinery. 

“I … I’m about ready to give up on this hunk of junk! I’d save more time chopping wood myself!!” spat Yurio, hoping around on one leg as he kicked his other leg free of the pile of twisted metal and wood he’d just crawled out from under. 

“You always say that,” said Viktor with a wry smile as he helped his brother regain his footing. Yurio was practically shaking as he kicked randomly at the remnants of his latest failed invention at his feet. 

“I mean it this time! I’ll never get this _chertov_ contraption to work!” He crossed his arms with a huff. 

“Yes, you will,” said Viktor, and pat his brother’s shoulder affectionately. “I know you’ll win first price at the fair tomorrow, too.”

___“Hmpf!!” grumbled Yurio, unconvinced._ _ _

__“And become a world famous inventor~” sang Viktor. Yurio looked up at his brother, unable to withstand the irritatingly pure faith and hope that shone in his brother’s blue eyes._ _

__“Do you really believe that?” asked Yurio bitterly, begrudging the hopeful pride eating away at his anger._ _

___“I always have!” exclaimed Viktor, and a slender finger rose to press against his lips as he smiled at his brother. Yurio’s lips formed a tight line of resolve, and he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows._ _ _

___“Well, what are we waiting for?” he asked. He pulled his goggles back down over his eyes, and pushed himself back under the heart of the invention — an unholy amalgamation of furnaces, teapots, armchairs and a gramophone. “I’ll have this thing fixed in no time! Eh, hand me that wrench other there…”_ _ _

___He disappeared underneath his behemoth creation, only emerging a few moments later as Viktor knelt down to hand him he tools he’d requested.  
“So, did you have a good time in town today?” Yurio asked. His voice had an oddly hollow, metallic quality._ _ _

___“I got a new book,” Viktor answered lamely. He looked down this brother’s feet sticking out from beneath a modified furnace. “Yurio, do you think I’m … odd?”_ _ _

___Yurio popped out suddenly; his eyes were comically enlarged by his goggles. “ _My_ brother? **ODD?** Where’d you get an idea like that?!”_ _ _

___Viktor smiled. “It’s just that I’m not sure I fit in here. There’s no one I can really talk to, besides you, of course.”_ _ _

___“What about that that Giacometti fella? He seems interesting,” Yurio suggested blandly as he disappeared back beneath the machinery for further tinkering._ _ _

___“Oh, he’s interesting, alright,” said Victor, unable to hide the distain rising in his voice. “And rude, and conceited, and …. well, he’s just…not for me.”_ _ _

___Yurio emerged again, and scrambled to his feet. He pushed his goggles up with the heels of his hands and grabbed a nearby lever with both oil-stained hands.  
“Well, don’t you worry, Viktor. This invention is gonna be the start of a new life for us. Okay, let’s give it a try….”_ _ _

___There was a loud, grating clunk as the machine groaned into animation; wheezing, scraping and heaving as steam hissed through the rubber hoses. Pistons pumped and soon the invention leapt into coordinated movements in beautifully perfect wood-chopping syntonization._ _ _

___“It works!” gasped Viktor. He ducked as freshly chopped logs flew haphazardly over his head to land in the wood pile on the far wall.  
“It does?” yelled Yurio in shocked disbelief. “It does!”_ _ _

___“Ty sdelal eto!” exclaimed Viktor, throwing his arms up in celebration. “You really did it!”  
Yurio’s face lit with the glory of a hundred suns. “I did it.”_ _ _

___~_ _ _

___By midday, Yurio was preparing to go to Market in a neighboring town, as he was well-know in Moulon and the surrounding villages for his deftness in repairing clocks. He was often called away from home to visit the estates of aristocrats and wealthy merchants. From intricate pocket watches, to the most ornate grandfather clocks, he knew the secrets of them all. Yurio fastened his cloak securely around his shoulders before checking Philippe’s harness, and the coupling to the wagon that held his new wood-chopping invention._ _ _

___“Are you sure it’s alright for you to go alone?” asked Viktor, coming alongside the wagon as he handed his brother a basket filled with bread, cheese and wine._ _ _

___“I’m eighteen now,” said Yurio. He tied his blond hair back. “Isn’t it about time you stopped fussing after me? Besides, it’s you that I’m worried about. Are you sure you’ll be alright here without me?”_ _ _

___But Viktor wasn’t listening, and had a faraway look in his eyes._ _ _

___Yurio sighed. “I’ve been to the fair many times without you Viktor, and Philippe knows the way.” He clambered up onto the saddle and wrapped Philippe’s reigns around his left hand. “I’ll be back in a couple of days — take care while I’m gone, Viktor.”_ _ _

___Viktor waved his brother off until he disappeared around the hill._ _ _

___~  
It was rare for anyone to venture beyond Moulon, and as Yurio and Philippe passed beyond the valley it began to rain and snow terribly. The wind was so high, that it threatened to push him off the mountain path, and night coming on, he began to fear being either starved to death with cold and hunger, or else devoured by the wolves, whom he heard howling all round him._ _ _

___It was nearing dusk, and Yurio stood at a forested crossroads. There was a weathered signpost, but the names and directions were too worn to be read. He swore under his breath, and Philippe snorted apprehensively behind him._ _ _

___“Perhaps we missed that turn after all…?” Yurio grudgingly admitted, feeling sorry for Philippe, and trying to ignore the heat that no doubt colored his cheeks in shame of his earlier overconfidence. He stroked Phillipe’s nose for a moment, sighed, and turned back to face the two paths before him. The path to the right was narrow, darker, and eerily shadowed by thick overgrowth and blackened knobby trees. The path to the left was wider, promised a bit more light as dusk deepened into evening, and Yurio was encouraged by the faint sounds of birdsong._ _ _

___Yurio lit the lantern hanging from the wagon seat and urged Philippe down the left path. The traveled on in silence for several minutes, and Yurio could no longer hear the birds, nor ignore his growing disquiet. In the same moment he thought of turning back, there was an ominous swish of leaves as an animal darted through the underbrush, and the howl of a wolf._ _ _

___“This can’t be right,” growled Yurio. “Let’s get out of here, Philippe. We’d better turn around…” Yurio pulled on the reigns, but was too shaken by the fear of wolves that he misjudged the distance and succeeded in backing the wagon off the path and into a gnarled oak tree. He nearly tumbled off the front of the wagon and Philippe neighed wildly, his front legs stamping._ _ _

___The faint howl of a wolf was joined by another, and another, and then many others. Yurio was loosing control of Philippe. “Steady! S-Steady, boy!” He unhitched the wagon and mounted Philippe, urging him forward with a slap the reigns — the two fled without thought, blinded by fear._ _ _

__Yurio clung to the back of his horse, his eyes shut tight against the danger he’d put them in. His fingers curled into Philippe’s coarse mane, as he wished fervently to be back home with Viktor._ _Wait—! Viktor needed him. Philippe needed him. He couldn’t let fear stop him now; he had to get Philippe home and return to Viktor. He straightened and opened his eyes, and not a moment too soon._ _

___“Whoa — WHOA!” yelled Yurio, pulling back hard on the reigns as Philippe skittered to a stop as the road disappeared at the edge of a cliff. Yurio stroked Philippe’s neck reassuringly as he eased him backwards away from the cliff edge._ _ _

___Yurio twisted around atop Philippe as another howl echoed through the trees. The horse reared suddenly, throwing Yurio. He landed heavily on his side, struggling to catch his breath._ _ _

___“Philippe…!”  
He watched in despair as his horse disappeared into the woods._ _ _

___It took a few moments for him to catch his breath. He was sure he’d broken a couple of ribs with that fall. Staggering to his feet, he pulled his cloak around him. Only then did he notice the wolves on the top of the ridge, shadowing him._ _ _

___He turned and ran, and the wolves howled as they leapt in pursuit._ _ _

___Yurio ran mindlessly through the forest. The wolves were flanking him; suddenly one appeared behind him, snapping at his ankles. He struggled to breathe, and he clutched at his side, forcing himself to keep moving forward. He tasted blood._ _ _

___He would never see Viktor again. Viktor would never know what happened to him. His footing faltered, and he fell down a short embankment. He scrambled weakly to push himself up, and scraped a palm against the corner of a rough flagstone._ _ _

___“…?!”_ _ _

___A large iron-wrought gate loomed above him. He limped forward, clinging desperately to the bars. He had no strength to shout._ _ _

___“Help! Please someone help me!!” he sobbed._ _ _

___The gate gave way suddenly, and he tumbled forward into a large courtyard. The gate swung shut with a resounding clang behind him, and he fell onto all fours. The wolves snarled and snapped through the iron bars, but his was safe. His breath caught in his throat painfully, and he staggered to his feet again._ _ _

___Passing the Gatehouse, he found himself standing in the courtyard of a grand estate, and the silhouette of a grand palace loomed illuminated against the night sky. Light flickered in one of the distant windows, and Yurio hoped the Master of the Castle wouldn’t mind an unexpected guest._ _ _

___Cavernous doors admitted him into the heart of the castle; the foyer was cold and vast, but warmer than outside. Yurio leaned heavily on a nearby table and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. His steps echoed against the swirled marble underfoot, and he made his way into a large Hall, where he found a good fire, and a table plentifully set for one. As he was wet quite through with the rain and snow, he drew near the fire to dry himself._ _ _

___"I hope," called Yurio apologetically, “that the Master of the House, or his servants, will excuse my intrusion.” I suppose it will not be long before some of them appear, he thought. He thought he caught the occasional whisper, but after waiting a considerable time, still nobody came._ _ _

___At last, he was so hungry that he could no longer resist. He limped to the table and took a chicken, and ate it in two mouthfuls. After this, he drank a few glasses of wine. He felt his strength return, and growing more courageous he went out of the Hall, and crossed through several grand apartments filled with magnificent furniture, until he came upon a chamber, which had an exceedingly good bed in it. He was very much fatigued, as it was now well past midnight, so he concluded it was best to go to bed and hope to explain everything in the morning._ _ _


	4. Eros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Viktor dances, Eros appears, and Yurio overstays his welcome.

That same evening, Viktor make his way back into town to take his supper in the tavern. He didn’t much like cooking when Yurio was away. He entered with the intention of eating a small dinner, perhaps chat with old Bernard about how to stop rabbits from raiding the carrots in his garden. He had not anticipated to walk into a raucous party with music and cider flowing.

It took only a few drinks to have him posed in the center of the tavern with everyone clustered around as the musicians struck up a lilting Slavic tune which Viktor knews well. Viktor’s blue eyes sparkled as he stood, hands on his hips as the mandolin began. He brought his hands up and clapped the air, singling the start. 

His left hip dipped, and he bent his left knee to step forward with his right heel. He brought them together and then out, stepped forward with the left heel, came together and then out again. Transferring all the weight to his left foot, he softened his knees as he bounced lightly on the ball of his foot, right heel, right toe, gentle back kick — then, the other. Left heel, left toe, gentle back kick, and spin! He used the balls of his feel to half-skip, half-bounce along with the increasing tempo as he spun. 

He couldn’t help by smile as the steps intensified, and the music spun him wildly like child’s wooden top. The elders at the table by the window were spinning their neck kerchiefs above their heads with the rhythm.

Giacometti sat at the bar, a stein pressed against his lower lip, and his eyes followed Viktor intently as he danced, face flushed and laughing as the crowd clapped.

Then, a vivacious jolting back-step. He dipped, left shoulder falling forward, then he bent backwards as his the left arm followed. He dipped again, his right shoulder falling forward, then he bent backwards again as his right arm followed. 

His eyes closed. The proper form was all but forgotten as he lost himself in the swirling patterns of music. This dance is his favorite, taught to him by Yakov one summer, after long evenings of listening to his stories of growing up in Leningrad. 

The onlookers were clapping in time with the musicians tapped their heels, urging him on. Faster! Faster! FASTER! He breathed the words of the dance as he spun, a prayer, and savored their taste on his lips. 

His steps were so effortless and gracefully lighthearted that he felt as though he weighed nothing, and he spun, spun, spun, his feet laughing through their quickened steps and kicks. He turned himself through a lilting turn, his hips betraying his enjoyment as they swayed flirtatiously to the left, and then the right. 

He flung himself deeper into the music, breathless, yearning. 

The music stopped suddenly, and Viktor stumbled out of his spin, rather dazed. 

“Oh, a challenger!” someone called, and before he could catch his breath, the music began again, slow at first, and then rushed forward with wild abandon, as a man circled Viktor with a lighthearted step-kick, hopping and spinning in time with the music. 

Viktor was quite flustered, and he cursed his ragged breath as he tried to compose himself; it had been some time since he’s had a challenger. The challenger was perhaps a few years younger, shorter, but muscular. His dark hair was pushed back in a most comely fashion, and his eyes flashed a dark amber. Viktor’s stomach leapt into his throat.

The challenger scraped his foot along the floor, then stomped, his left arm held aloft. They linked arms. Viktor’s right leg crossed the stranger’s left, right heel up. The stranger echoed, his left leg crossed Viktor’s, left heel up. 

They referenced each other in mirror — they were part of the same material, something that stretched, tied and supported them to be the same. 

Victor studied his partner’s face as they wove together tightly, spinning, and what began as a stiff and cautious union melted into a warm, foreign intimacy. They slowly became very conscious of each other and of their closeness. Viktor stood nearly a head taller, yet he was being driven mad by the occasional ghost of the man’s breath against the side of his neck.

The melody seemed to go on for some time, or perhaps they had passed into some sort of twilight in which they are hidden from the view of the world. Viktor became mildly aware they had slowed their spin — the sharp steps and rigid gaits from earlier melted into a gentle, lazy swirl as they studied each other. Somehow, this was all too familiar to Viktor, as if he had danced thousands of hours with this stranger in a forgotten lifetime.

Other couples linked arms to join in the dance, and soon the tavern was an ocean of bobbing heads, laughter and the jaunty transition from Slavic folksongs to French dances played on the accordion with the fiddler stomping his foot as he played.

Viktor felt the arm around his waist tighten. He looked up at caught his partner’s gaze, losing himself in the dark eyes that locked him in this man’s embrace — a splendid and terrifying gaze that burned him and stirred in his heart long forgotten memories -- yes, for his heart knew something his which remained shrouded in his mind. And yet, something in this stranger had snared and commanded his desire in one night.

Viktor reached out and placed his palm gently along the bottom of his jaw; the man’s eyes closed and he lowered his head slightly into his touch to bring a kiss to the inside of Viktor’s wrist.

Viktor’s heart thrummed in his chest. “Tell me your name,” he begged.

“I would tell you,” the man answered, “but you will forget it by sunrise.”

~

They made love softly in the night on Viktor’s bed, with the window open, so to taste the cold night air. In the morning, with the dust of sleep still in his eyes, an arching back, and a contended and effortless chuckle, Viktor lay in his lover’s embrace as they joined in a deliciously unpretentious union. 

“Have you learned my name?” asked his lover, as he gathered Viktor against him and kissed him fervently before the fresh light of sunrise could touch his eyes. Viktor studied him quietly, and drew his fingers along the silver webs which wound around the man’s wrist and forearm. The skin beneath was scarred, as if he had tried many times to free himself from intricate swirls of silver and pearl.

“No.”

The man kissed Viktor’s forehead, and a tear rolled down his cheek until it stopped, quivering and clinging to his jaw.

“But I have seen you in my dreams,” said Viktor. His fingertips brushed against his lover’s shoulder. “You are so much more beautiful now...”

The man smiled. “Give me a name, then, Viktor.”

“Eros,” said Viktor, without a thought. 

Eros’ eyes closed, forming half-shaped crescents. “You say the same thing to me every year, Viktor. It makes me happy.”

“Every … year?” asked Viktor, puzzled. Eros clung to him fiercely, and pressed his face into the sloping juncture of Viktor’s neck and shoulder. “Why are you crying? Is it because you see that my hair is thinning?” 

Eros laughed, and pushed a palm across his cheek to wipe away the moisture. 

“No, Vitya, not because of that.” He folded a relieved Viktor in his arms and pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. Viktor closed his eyes as Eros plucked a single silver hair from his lover’s head, and the memory of their night faded behind his eyes. 

Eros winced softly as the silver band around his wrist tightened, and new web-like veins of silver unfurled across his shoulder and along his side, inching closer to his heart.

~

Yurio woke with the sun on his face, and the pleasant trill of birdsong. He sat up, and stepped gingerly from the bed. His clothes from the night before were filthy, so he made his way to the wardrobe and pulled open the carved doors. Inside was an array of fine suits; he selected the violet one, again muttering an apology to the unknown Lord of the House. 

He washed his face in the china basin by the window, and as he dried his face, looked through the glass panes into the garden below. The snow from the night before was gone, and in its place the most delightful arbors laden with the most beautifully succulent flowers he had ever beheld. 

Yurio then returned to the Great Hall, where he had eaten the night before, and found some drinking chocolate waiting for him on a little table. "Thank you, good Madam Fairy," said he aloud, "for providing me a breakfast; I am extremely obliged to you for all your favors.”

Yurio was not usually fond of sweet things, but the scent of it was too enticing, and he drank it greedily. Once finished, he left the castle and passed through an arbor of roses. He remembered Viktor and his garden, and thought his brother would truly love these blooms. And so he tore off a branch on which were several.

Immediately he heard a great noise, and as he turned saw such a frightful Beast bounding towards him. Yurio dropped the branch of flowers in shock and in his haste to flee, trod upon them. 

The Beast grasped Yurio by the hood of his cloak, and Yurio cried out as the Beast’s terrible talons pierced his shoulders. Yurio trembled, and his eyes widened in fear as he beheld the great monster in horror and amazement. 

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” growled the Beast, who noticed Yurio’s fine violet suit and his visage grew so dark that Yurio lost his words.

“I … I ….I was lost in the woods, and I—“

“You are not welcome here!”

Yurio lifted up both his hands in supplication. "My lord," said Yurio, “I….I…” He began to tremble as he beheld this monstrous creature. ”I beg you to forgive me; I had no intention to offend —“

“What are you staring at?”

“N-Nothing!” He lied.

“So…come to stare at the **Beast** , have you?” roared the creature, with flashing eyes.

“Please! I meant to harm!” cried Yurio. “I just needed a place to stay—!”

There was a guttural snort of disapproval.

“I’ll give you a place to stay,” growled the Beast. He dragged Yurio along the path beneath the arbor and back into the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is dancing his own version of "kalinka," if anyone was wondering. I'm no expert on Russian dance, but there seems to be a fair amount of improvisation with this folk dance; some of my favorites are here: 
> 
> https://youtu.be/2Tkmy2h-4Zs  
> https://youtu.be/Wc3iF466Eq0
> 
> :D I still have no idea where this story is going, but thanks for reading!!!


	5. Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: This chapter contains an attempted rape.

_The Prince awoke cold, for the fire in the hearth had long flickered out. He rolled onto his side, and gazed about the room, bewildered. His mother and father, the King and Queen, burst into the room and gathered him into their arms, stroking his face and comforting him.  
His eyes filled his tears and he sobbed, but he could not tell them why he wept, for he did not know. _

_Viktor was never the same after that night. His beautiful eyes, which once lit with the glory of the sky at dawn, faded. He lost his joy, and his vivacious zest for life. The King and Queen sent for doctors, soothsayers and shamans to come and cure their son, yet none could discover the heart of his condition. Viktor disappeared into the depths of the palace, a recluse. As the years passed, he fell into despair and wasted away, a gaunt wraith, forgotten._

_In the summer of his twenty-fourth year, a great fever swept through the palace, claiming the lives of many of his devoted servants, and his dear mother and father. As she lay dying, his mother reached for him, and whispered, “Will you sing me to heaven, sweet Viktor. For the song you sang to me that night you came to us from heaven I have not forgotten, and I would very much like to hear it again.”  
But Viktor could no remember to sing, and held her tightly, whispering his thanks to her as she passed._

_After the passing of the King and Queen, the once great palace emptied and fell into disrepair. Soon, it was only Viktor who remained, wretched, and half-mad._

_Then, one winter’s night, there was a knock on the great doors, and Viktor opened them the behold a monstrous Beast. The Prince, repulsed by its haggard appearance, hurried to close the door, but the creature turned its great head to gaze at Viktor with its burning amber eyes.  
“Viktor…?” it asked, its breath hanging on the cold air. “Viktor, is it really you?”_

_The creature’s vice made the Prince cry out in shock, for though he had no memory, he knew the voice.  
“W-Who are you?” he shouted, a dash of light illuminating his face._

_Only then did the Beast see Viktor’s appearance, and overcome with guilt at the Prince’s gaunt visage, pallid complexion and filthy rags, turned and fled._

_Viktor chased after the creature, torch held aloft as he followed the Beast into the darkened woods._

_“Wait — stop!” He wished to feel the heat of those eyes upon him again, for he had not felt such a wondrous thing in many years. “Wait!” he panted, and his legs tangled through the underbrush. “Please wait—!”_

_The Prince pitched forward suddenly as he lost his footing, and tumbled down a rocky embankment. A piercing pain bloomed at the base of his skull, and all went dark._

~

A loud pounding roused Viktor from sleep, and he pushed himself onto his side, bewildered. He was naked, and the window was open. His bedding was twisted, and he rubbed his cheek in confusion.

 _I must have been terribly drunk,_ he thought. More pounding, and a muffled shout. Viktor reached for his clothes, and pulled them and his boots on haphazardly. He ran down the stairs, reached the door and pulled it open, expecting to see Yurio. 

It was Giacometti, who pushed himself into the house. 

“G-Giacometti,” he stammered, stepping back. “What a …pleasant surprise.” It wasn’t.

“Isn’t it, though?” preened Giacometti, and he pushed back his auburn hair with a deft flick of his hand. “I’m just full of surprises. You know, Viktor, there isn’t a woman (or man, for that matter) in town who wouldn’t love to be in your shoes today. This is the day your dreams come true!”

“What would you know about my dreams, Giacometti?” asked Viktor. He made his way to the large, roughhewn table near the stove and preoccupied himself with fussing over the various knobs, spindles and crockery Yurio had left strewn about. 

“More than you know, Viktor,” he said, coming too close for Viktor to be comfortable. He pushed his nose into Viktor’s hair in what might have been called a nuzzle, but Viktor shuddered at the degradation of it. “When you lie in bed at night, who do you think about, Viktor? I will tell you who I think about. I lie awake and think about how I would like to do this…” His hands slid brazenly down Viktor’s chest, across his stomach and slipping down to —

Viktor stopped Giacometti’s hands, and he politely disentangled himself from this would-be lover. “You’ve gone too far. Don’t make a fool of yourself, Christophe.” But Giacometti grasped one of Viktor’s hands, and pulled him back. Viktor pressed his free hand against Giacometti’s chest in resistance, recoiling as the merchant leaned forward.

“When I saw you dancing last night, it stirred my blood. I won’t be satisfied until I can —”

“Giacometti,” Viktor interrupted. “I …. I really don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll take me as a lover.”

“No,” said Viktor firmly. Giacometti’s charm dissolved, and his grip around Viktor’s forearm tightened in anger. Viktor grimaced, and tried to to jerk his arm away.

“Do you think you can resist me?” he asked, malice bleeding into the charm dripping from his voice. Panic flashed through Victor. “And do you think I can resist you, with that sweet expression of fear on your face?” Viktor jerked backwards roughly as Giacometti lunged at him. 

They crashed into the kitchen table and to the floor, scattering the dishes and cutlery. One of Giacometti’s large hands lodged under Viktor’s jaw, forcing his head back into a jarring kiss that made Viktor choke. 

Viktor’s knees came up like pistons beneath his assailant, and he bit down Giacometti’s lip, drawing blood. Giacometti broke away with a hiss, and struck Viktor hard across the face. The blow made the air ring, and stunned him. Giacometti kissed Viktor again, smearing his blood against Viktor’s lips. 

Giacometti rolled Viktor forcibly onto his stomach, pinning him. He pushed himself between Viktor’s legs as he fumbled with his belt. He unlatched the buckle, and happened to look up in the same moment Viktor twisted beneath him, swinging an iron frypan. By sheer dumb luck, the skillet glanced off the merchant’s skull just behind his ear. The effect was instantaneous. Giacometti slumped forward, senseless.

Viktor rolled him off and pushed himself to his feet. 

_Run._

Legs shaking beneath him, he collapsed. Breathing fast, he scrambled forward, pushed the door open with his shoulder as he fell into it, and fled.

~

He ran and ran and ran. He ran until the rolling hills of Moulon were behind him, and the patchwork of outlying country farms greeted him. He passed a fallow field flush with rushes and tall grass that bent and swayed on the light breeze coming down from the mountains. He meandered into it, and collapsed.

He did not cry, but lay still for many hours. He was simply content to stay curled in the thick weeds like a field mouse until Yurio came home, who would come down the road nearby on his return route. As day turned to afternoon turned to evening, Viktor began to wonder if he should make his way to one of the nearby farms to seek shelter for the night. The sound of a horse’s whinny and gallop made him sit up sharply, and he emerged from the grass.

He was startled to see Philippe with no wagon, and no Yurio. Viktor cried hoarsely for Philippe, staggering out of the field. The horse slowed and trotted over to him, pawing the ground with his left front hoof. 

Viktor wrapped his arms around Philippe’s neck in relief. “But what are you doing here? Where’s Yurio?”

Philippe snorted.

“You have to take me to him.” Viktor mounted in one smooth leap, and Philippe galloped back the way he had come.

~

“What is this place?” asked Viktor aloud as they passed beneath the arbor of flowers. He reached out to touch one of the low-hanging blooms, and recoiled gently when it withered in his hands.

He dismounted, and led Philippe the rest of the way down the path. His horse followed him, and seeing a large stable open, went in, and finding both hay and oats, the poor beast, who was almost famished, fell to eating very heartily. Viktor took care to tie him up to the manger. He pushed past the great doors leading into the palace, and announced his presence, and but there was no one to be seen or heard. Upon entering into a large hall, he found a good fire, and a table plentifully set out with but one cover laid.

“Hello? Is anyone here? Hello? Yurio?” he called out. His voice echoed off the paneled walls. He meandered his way through gloomy corridors calling for his brother, turning to look over his shoulder as he was certain he heard footsteps behind him. He passed a towering, paned window, and spied a nearby turret in which a faint light flickered.

Climbing the steps of the tower, he shivered. His breath grew labored, and he occasionally stopped to look over his shoulder, gazing at the steps behind him fading into shadow.

“…v….Viktor?”

“Yurio!” he cried and entered into the tower’s keep, and to his brother, whose arms were reaching through the rusted bars of a dank cell. Viktor ran to him, gathering his brother’s hands and pressing them to his cheek.

“H-Ho-How did you find me?” stammered Yurio. He was suddenly wracked by a wet, hacking cough.

“Oh, your hands are like ice,” said Viktor, rubbing them gently in his own. “I’ve got to get you out of here!”

Yurio looked on him, and burst into tears. This startled Viktor, as he had never seen his brother shed tears. 

"Viktor," he said, “I have made a terrible mistake, but little do you know how dear it will cost me," and he related the entire affair. But still Viktor did not cry. A resolution hardened in him because he would not increase Yurio’s sorrow.

"No, Yurio," said Viktor. “This shall not be. We will go find the monster, and either kill him, or perish in the attempt.”

“No, it’s hopeless, Viktor," lamented Yurio. “The Beast's power is so great that I have no hopes of us overcoming him.” Viktor clutched his brother’s hands, and kissed them.

“Do not cry, Yura,” Viktor said softly. “Since l came to you, you have protected me from all manner of monsters. You have scarified much for me, but I have not been a good elder brother to you.” 

Yurio’s eyes widened as he understood Viktor’s intentions. “No, Viktor, I want you to leave this place—”

“—you will not suffer further on my account. I will give myself up to this Beast in your place. This time, I will save you.”

Viktor looked up at his brother, only to see his brother’s eyes fixed upon the door behind him. Viktor stood and turned. Something stood in the doorway to the tower, and cast a curious shadow.

“Who’s there? Who are you?” Viktor demanded, a temporary wave of bravado masking his terror. Yurio must not know how truly terrified he was.

“The Master of this castle,” was the answer. It was strange voice, not wholly human; a deep voice that seemed to rumble and rattle about angrily in the creature’s throat. It gave off a strange smell, and Viktor was afraid. 

“I’ve come for my brother," Viktor said, and his eyes followed the creature as it stalked about the tower room. "Please, let him out. Can’t you see he’s sick?”

“Then he shouldn’t have trespassed here.”

“But he could die! Please, I’ll do anything.” His voice warbled in emotion.

“There’s nothing you can do. He’s my prisoner.”

An uneasy silence descended, and Viktor took a steadying breath. “Take me instead."

“You … would take his place?” asked the Beast.

“Viktor, no!” exclaimed Yurio in anger. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“If I did,” continued Viktor, his voice carrying over his brother, “would you release him?”

“Yes,” said the Beast. “But, you must promise to stay here forever.”

Yurio blinked, and Viktor took a silent, shaking breath. 

“No, Viktor, I won’t let you do this!”

“You have my word.”

“Done.”

The Beast brushed past Viktor, and Viktor fell to his knees in defeat. 

“No, Viktor,” said Yurio, scrambling forward as soon as the Beast released him from the cell. He grabbed Viktor’s hands fervently. “I’ll come back for you — !” The Beast grasped him by the cowl and pulled him from the tower. Yurio was mercilessly dragged behind the monster.

“Wait—!!” begged Viktor.

“Viktor!” cried Yurio.

~

“Please … spare my brother,” gasped Yurio, clutching at the Beast’s great cloak. The heels of his boots scrapped and scuffed against the marble of the Great Hall as the Beast cast him from the castle.

“He is no longer your concern.”

The Beast blew upon his face, and Yurio awoke lying in the village square along The Road.

~

As soon as Yurio was gone, Viktor covered his face. He was master of a great deal of resolution, and after a few moments resolved not to be uneasy in the little time he had to live; for he firmly believed the Beast would eat him up that night.

He shivered as the wind howled through the tower.

When the Beast returned, Viktor beheld it in the moonlight and was revolted. It had the shape of a man, and yet was not a man, for its hide was made of layers of crusted scales and matted fur. His gait was an uneven lurch. The Beast’s eyes burned like white-hot embers trapped in the bottom of a brazier; Viktor could not bear them, and looked away.

“I will show you to your room,” said the Beast.

“You didn’t even let me say goodbye,” erupted Viktor, and angry tears burned his eyes. “I shall never see him again, and you — !” Viktor’s faced paled and he looked away. “I … was not able to say goodbye.”

“Do you wish to stay in the tower, then?” The Beast’s voice sharpened in anger, or perhaps guilt.

“No,” said Viktor, sounding meeker than he felt.

“Then follow me.”

~

Viktor followed the Beast through the castle.

Upon it’s back were deep gashes which had scarred over time and time again, black and curling. Viktor felt a acute twinge of revulsion, but also wondered where it had attained such marks.

He forced himself to look away, as it was a fine castle, and one which he could not help admiring; surprising, it was a delightfully pleasant place, and he was extremely surprised to be led to a door over which was written, “Viktor’s Apartment." 

He opened it hastily, and was quite dazzled with the magnificence that reigned throughout; but what chiefly took up his attention, was a large library, a harpsichord, and several music books. 

"Well," he said dryly, turning to face the Beast, "I see you will not let my time hang heavy upon my hands for want of amusement." 

The Beast said nothing from where he lingered in the doorway.

“Should you want for anything,” said the Beast, “my servants will attend you.”

Viktor depressed a key on the harpsichord. “You know there is nothing I desire so much as to see my poor brother." 

The Beast did not answer for some time, and then said, “You will join me for dinner.”

“I absolutely will not,” said Viktor.

“That is not a request,” said the Beast, and closed the door before Viktor could protest further. At this, Viktor’s resolve finally crumbled. He staggered to the bed and collapsed. He wept long and hard, and fell into an uneasy sleep. 

Some time later, a dull knocking pulled him from sleep, and he pushed himself up on one arm as looked around the dim chamber, his vision bleary from sleep. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. The knock at the door persisted.

“Viktor, are you coming to dinner?” 

Fear gripped him, and he rolled from the bed. He was determined to protect himself from this monster, and though it took some considerable effort, he managed to push the ornate oak chest that sat of the foot of his bed against the door to block the Beast’s entrance. 

“Viktor, are you coming to dinner?”  
“No.” He sat on the floor, his back resting against the side of the chest.

The gilt handle to his door moved, but the chest held the door shut, and Viktor’s heart pounded wildly.

“Viktor, have you blocked the door?” Viktor straightened up slightly, and looked over his shoulder at the door, for the voice that came from behind it seemed different than that of the Beast. A milder voice.

“Well, yes,” admitted Viktor. 

“Why have you done this?” asked the voice. It’s gentleness remained, but Viktor sensed its distress at this discovery. There is a long silence, and Viktor wondered if perhaps the Beast had gone.

“Will you join me for dinner?” it asked again.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You shall come out, or I shall break down this door and tear you out!” But the voice did not sound angry, only desperate. _Good, I upset it,_ thought Viktor, rather pleased with himself, and his cleverness.

Another long silence.

“It would give me great pleasure if you would join me for dinner. Please.”

“No, thank you!”

There was a weak banging at the door. “You can’t stay in there forever!”

Viktor crossed his arms defiantly at that. “Yes, I can!”

“Fine.” Viktor heard a distinctive snarl. “Then go ahead and _starve_.”


	6. Tavern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Christophe descends to another level of horribleness. Sorry, Chris.

Giacometti sat in the tavern nursing the swollen knot that throbbed angrily behind his ear, courtesy of Viktor’s fry pan, and his wounded pride. He finished off his stein of beer with a long swig and sneer as he swallowed. He had spent the day searching for Viktor, but the man was nowhere to be found in Moulon, Giacometti rubbed the pad of his index finger across the of the worn table, tracing the swirls in the grain.

Viktor’s rejection burned him, and his insides writhed at the disgrace of it. 

“It disturbs me to see you so despondant,” said LeRoy, leaving where he stood leaning against the bar and coming to share Giacometti’s table by the fire. 

“Who does Viktor think he is?” hissed Gicometti under his breath. He threw his beer stein into the fire with a snarl. “Dismissed. Rejected. Humiliated. It’s more than I can bear.”

“More beer?” suggested LeRoy.

“What for? It won’t help. I’m disgraced, LeRoy. Viktor will never have me. Especially now.”

“You, disgraced? Never! Christophe, you’ve got to get hold of yourself. So, Viktor rejected you; that doesn’t mean that anyone here thinks less of you, or that you can’t keep pursuing what you want. You’re still the envy of every man in this village.”

Giacometti scowled, unconvinced.

“Look, every man here would love to be in your shoes, Christophe, even when taking your lumps! Everyone’s awed and inspired by you, and it’s not difficult to see why.”

“I suppose I am quite the intimidating specimen.”

“See? A perfect, pure paragon of masculine virility, and you can ask any man here and they’ll agree with me. Viktor is so scraggly and scrawny—”

“—but me, I have biceps to spare!”

“Yes, no one’s as burly or brawny as you. No one can match wits like you, either. You’re a crafty man, Christophe; I know you can find a way to make Viktor come around to you, one way or another—”

“Help! Someone help me!”

The pleasant hum of the tavern was suddenly disrupted by Yurio staggering through the door, his eyes wild, hat askew and his clothes rumpled. 

“Yurio?” asked a dumbfounded LeRoy, and nearly upset his drink in surprise.

“Please! Please, I need your help! It’s got him — it’s got him locked in the dungeon!”

“…who?”

“ _Viktor!_ We must go — there’s not a moment to lose!”

“Whoa, slow down, Yurio,” said Giacometti, standing up from his chair and placing his palms on the table as he leaned forward. “Who’s got Viktor locked in a tower?”

“A **Beast**! A horrible, monstrous beast!!”

Shocked silence melted into hearty peals of laughter.

“Is it a _big_ beast?” asked the farmer in the corner, his eyebrows held high with incredulous mirth.

“Huge!” cried Yurio, as he extended his arms over his head to give them an idea of it’s towering height and girth. His actions were met by a chorus of chuckles and stifled laughter.

“With a long ugly snout?” asked the barkeep as he would to an imaginative child.

“Hideously ugly!” exclaimed Yurio, nearly frantic. The laughter in the tavern grew.

“And sharp cruel fangs?” added the baker. He brought up his fingers and curled them like claws.

“Yes, yes!” gasped Yurio, exasperated. “Will any of you help me, or not?”

“Alright, Yurio, we’ll help you you out,” said Giacometti magnanimously.

“You will?” he said, relieved. “Oh, thank you, thank you!”

Two of the men guided Yurio to the door of the tavern, and threw him out into the street. “Crazy Yurio; he’s always good for a laugh!” said the barkeep, as he turned back to washing the steins.

LeRoy shook his head, amused, and snatched two fresh beers from Gerta’s serving platter as she passed. 

“Crazy Yurio, hmmm?” mused Giacometti. He sat in silence for several moments, chin in hand, his beer forgotten. “Crazy Yurio…”

“You’re uncharacteristically pensive, Christophe.”

“LeRoy, I'm afraid I've been thinking…”

“That’s a dangerous pastime.”

“I know, but that strange kid is Viktor’s brother, and his sanity's only “so-so.” Now the wheels in my head have been turning since I looked at that silly, dumb kid. See, I've promised myself I'd take Viktor to bed, and right now I'm evolving a plan.”

Giacometi and LeRoy sat and talked for several long hours before the fire. At last, LeRoy leaned back and stretched his long arms over his head with a contended groan. 

“No one plots quite like you, Christophe.”

“Yes, I'm endlessly, wildly resourceful, am I not?” preened Giacometti. 

“It is pretty despicable,” said Christophe. “Persecuting a harmless crackpot like that. Can you live with what you’re planning?”

“As long as I get what I want in the end — yes.”


	7. Dinner

Viktor remained in his room for several hours, but hunger eventually drove him to leave his rooms and risk the Beast’s wrath in search of food. The halls were devoid of servants as Viktor emerged from his rooms late in the evening. He wandered aimlessly down the richly carpeted corridors. Firelight illuminated the interior, and cast eerie dancing shadows across the faces of the grimacing stone gargoyles that looked down upon him from the vaulted ceilings.

He entered a great hall, and found an extravagant dinner prepared. He looked over his shoulder down the dark expanse of the corridor from whence he had come, and seeing no sign of the Beast, sat and ate with great relish.

There was entertainment, an excellent concert of music, though Viktor never saw anyone, and could not ascertain from where the musicians or singers came from.  
He suddenly heard the noise Beast made as he approached, his claws grating against the stone floor. He dropped his fork and knife and scrambled beneath the table’s heavy damask tablecloth as the Beast came to the table.

"Viktor," said the monster, "will you give me leave to join you?” Viktor pressed his hands over his mouth and held his breath.

“Viktor, I know you are hiding under the table.”

Viktor’s eyes squeezed shut in chagrin, and he cautiously poked his head out from beneath the table, the embroidered damask cloth draped around his shoulders.

“You may do as you please," answered Viktor, looking up at the Beast.

"No," replied the Beast, "you alone are Master here; you need only bid me gone, if my presence is troublesome, and I will immediately withdraw.”

Viktor emerged from beneath the table, the tablecloth falling away, and studied the Beast. He could not understand what kind of animal it was, for the creature seemed to wear a hide stitched together of many beasts. Its form suddenly shifted subtly, caught in the glow of the fire, but the vision passed so quickly Viktor dismissed it as a trick of his mind. Its eyes were bright, and as Viktor met it’s gaze, he felt something in him begin to unravel. 

A thought rose unbidden in his mind, and with such compulsion that Viktor was completely overcome with the desire to touch the creature. He stepped forward and buried his fingers into the creature’s hide, as if under enchantment. The Beast remained still as Viktor ran his hands through its fur, coarse and soft. The creature shifted before his eyes, and Viktor beheld not a revolting mass of flesh, but a fierce and proud creature filled with such majesty that Viktor found himself pressing deeper into the folds of warm fur. He snatched back his hand. Blood oozed from a jagged gash on his palm.

“Ah…?!”

“My apologies,” said the Beast gently. “My scales are very sharp. You must be more careful.” It took Viktor’s hand in it’s great claws, and brought the bloodied palm up to it’s misshapen maw. Viktor feared it would eat him, or that the sight and scent of his blood would send the creature into a murderous frenzy, but to his surprise the Beast pressed Viktor’s palm to its mouth and licked his wound clean with such a delicate tenderness that it stirred Viktor’s heart.

“Tell me,” said the Beast, releasing Viktor’s hand after some time. “Do find me very ugly?"

"That is true," said Viktor quietly, and somewhat breathless. “I would not lie to you, but …” His palm tingled, and the words left his mouth before he realized. “I believe … that perhaps … you are very good natured.”

“Perhaps you are right," said the monster, “I suppose it is a small thing to be good-natured, as besides my ugliness, I also have no sense; I know very well, that I am a poor, silly, stupid creature."

“It’s not a terrible thing to think so," replied Viktor, smiling sadly and thinking of his brother. “I am also a poor, silly stupid creature, or so my brother tells me. I suppose I am the greater fool for not having the wisdom or humility to see it in myself, as you do.”

"Eat then, Viktor," said the monster, "and endeavor to amuse yourself in your palace, for everything here is yours, and I should be very uneasy, if you were not happy."

"You are very obliging to me," answered Viktor. “You do not need to be so kind to me.”

“Do not flatter yourself, Viktor. My heart my be good, but I am still a monster.”

"Among men," says Viktor darkly, "there are many that deserve that name more than you. I prefer you, just as you are, to those, who, under a human form, hide a treacherous, corrupt, and ungrateful heart.”

The beast’s hide quivered, and it made a longing sound. 

"If I had sense enough," replied the Beast, "I would give you a fine compliment to thank you, but I am very dull. I can only say I am greatly obliged to you.”

The Beast sat by the fire and watched as Viktor ate a hearty supper. Their conversation did not sparkle with what the world calls wit, yet Viktor continued to discover some valuable qualifications of the monster with each moment that passed. Viktor had come so accustomed to its deformity over the passing hours that in some moments the Beast seemed to take the shape of a man in the corner of Viktor’s eye. 

As he savored his wine, Viktor wondered if perhaps he had conquered his dread of the monster, for he looked almost beautiful cast in the light of the fire; but, no sooner had the thought entered his mind, he nearly choked when the Beast said to him, “Viktor, will you come to my bed?”

He took some time before he dared answer, for he was afraid of making the Beast angry if he refused. At last, however, he answered with a trembling, “No." 

Immediately, the monster roared so miserably that the whole palace echoed and Viktor nearly fainted away from fear. 

"Then farewell, Viktor," said the Beast with a deeply mournful growl as it left the room; and only turned back, now and then, to look at Viktor as it went out.

“Viktor.”

“Y-Yes…?” Viktor stood hastily, and his thighs bumped into the edge of the table, upsetting the cutlery.

“My palace is not safe for you at night. You must swear to me not to leave your room after midnight, no matter who or what you hear.”

“Why is—”

“It’s forbidden.”

Viktor blinked softly at the sharpness of the Beast’s voice. “I promise.”

The Beast said nothing for several long moments, and Viktor, suddenly warm, fiddled absently with his spoon. And then it moved forward suddenly, and Viktor stumbled backwards into his chair. The Beast exhaled a hot breath, and pressed Viktor backwards against the table. Its great claws hands slid across Viktor’s chest without preamble and with shocking confidence, as if it owned him.

“Come to my bed,” it asked again, softer, and suddenly alluring. The Beast’s breath was warm on his neck, and Viktor felt weak.

“Is that where you feast on helpless men?” whispered Viktor, trembling.

“What is your answer? Will you spend your night with me?”

“…y….n…NO.”

“You will cannot deny me forever, Viktor, for there will be a time soon where you will come to me, and I will not need to ask for you.”

“Then you shall need to seduce me,” Viktor murmured, and his breath quickened at the thought. The Beast pressed against him, terrible and beautiful, and its sweet, musky scent stirred Viktor’s blood.

“What did you say?”

“Seduce me with all your might, Beast. Then, perhaps, I shall come to your bed.”

“Perhaps you are already seduced,” said the Beast, pleased. “Your body betrays you.” Viktor made a soft sound of dismay and closed his eyes. And then, the Beast suddenly pulled away, and left the Hall. Viktor leaned heavily back against the table, weak.

It took Viktor several moments to recover, and when he did, sat back down and put his head in his hands. Whatever had possessed him to blurt out such a foolish thing was unknown to him, and he feared the door he had opened himself to. He must close it, and fast. He left the table and the warmth of the fire to ventured back to his apartments in a daze, where he undressed, bathed, and crawled into bed.

The bed linens smelled of linden flowers, and moonlight spilled across his coverlet as he dreamt of a young man with dark hair and amber eyes.

_He was walking down a hallway, gilded and dark and warm. The muted sounds of an old waltz, the clink and clatter of china and silver and conversation drifted from below. As he walked, he counted the doors on either side, their dark wood illuminated by the chandeliers overhead._

_"Viktor."_

_Viktor turned, and he was there beside him. The youth who haunted his dreams._

_Their fingers wove together, and Viktor followed him. His companion was naked, shimmering in majesty, and Viktor could see his small, rosy nipples and the soft, dark curls of his manhood._

_“Who are you?” he heard himself ask, though it sounded very far away._

_“Long ago, you named me Eros,” the youth answered._

_“Eros…”_

_Eros’ lips parted for him as Viktor kissed him, clumsy and sweet. Eros’ breath was hot, and a strange spiciness lingered on his tongue as they pressed together._

_“Marry me, Viktor…” Eros pleaded. “Say you’ll marry me, and share my bed. Say you’ll love me, and never take your eyes from me…”_

_They tumbled into each other. Eros uttered a soft sob of pleasure as Viktor’s lips pressed against the hollow of his throat, where the trace of a haunting fragrance lingered. He exhaled into the mysterious scent as Eros stirred rapturously beneath him._

_“Viktor.”_

_Eros gazed at him, his wide eyes pools of molten amber and Viktor was completely and utterly lost._

~

Daylight flooded the room when Viktor woke, twisted in his sheets and hot. He was so shaken by his dream of Eros that he lay unmoving for a moment. Never had he felt so hopelessly disappointed that their liaison had been nothing more than just that. A dream.


End file.
